#softie sam

The room hung heavy with the scent of sex – sweat, musk, and the faint, comforting tang of Sam’s skin. You lay sprawled bonelessly across the broad expanse of his chest, your limbs feeling like overcooked noodles. Every breath you took stirred the damp curls plastered to your forehead. Sam’s own breathing was a deep, steady rhythm beneath your ear, his large hand splayed possessively, yet gently, across the small of your back.

The memory of his intensity moments before was a physical echo within you. The commanding grip on your hips, the low growls that vibrated against your skin, the sheer, overwhelming strength as he’d pinned you, moved you, ruined you exactly the way you’d begged him to. He’d been a force of nature, unleashed and demanding, using his size and power not to harm, but to consume you whole. And you’d loved every overwhelming, breath-stealing second of it.

A small, involuntary whimper escaped you as you shifted slightly, trying to find a position where the delicious ache between your thighs didn’t throb quite so insistently.

Sam’s hand stilled instantly. His deep voice, roughened by exertion but now softened with concern, rumbled beneath your cheek. "Hey... you okay? Did I...?" He trailed off, but the guilt was already threading into his tone. His thumb began a slow, soothing circle on your back. "Shit. I got carried away. I should’ve been gentler."

You tilted your head back to look up at him. His face was softened in the dim light, strands of sweat-damp hair falling over his forehead, his hazel eyes wide with worry and affection. The contrast between the fiercely dominant lover of minutes ago and this gentle giant cradling you was breathtaking. You managed a small, genuine smile, wincing only slightly as another pleasant thrum of soreness made itself known.

"A little sore," you admitted, your voice a raspy whisper. "But... it's the nice kind." You nestled against him, sighing contentedly. "The really nice kind."

He relaxed minutely, but the worry didn't fully leave his eyes. He pulled you closer, his strong arms enveloping you completely, making you feel impossibly small and cherished against his massive frame. His nose nuzzled into the side of your hair. "Nice?" he murmured, skepticism lacing the word. "Baby, I saw the marks… I felt how deep I was, how tight you clenched… I know I was rough."

You tilted your head up again, meeting his earnest gaze. The memory of his possession, the feel of him stretching you impossibly full, sent a fresh wave of warmth pooling low in your belly. Your smile turned a touch wicked, a secret shared just with him. "Yeah," you whispered, your lips brushing the hollow of his throat. "Rough. Amazing. And now… it’s a good sore." You paused, holding his gaze, letting the implication hang heavy in the air between you before adding, your voice dropping to a husky murmur, "Like I can still feel you inside me."

Sam went utterly, completely still. Not a breath escaped him. The steady thud of his heart against your ear seemed to stutter, then kick into a harder, faster rhythm. The hand on your back tightened almost imperceptibly.

You felt the shift before you saw it. The soft concern in his eyes flickered, replaced by a sudden, banked heat. His jaw tightened visibly.

"Jesus," he breathed, his voice suddenly strained, thick with something far removed from guilt. "Do you have any idea what saying stuff like that does to me?"

A giggle bubbled up in your throat at his reaction, at the palpable tension coiling through his big body. You shifted deliberately, pressing your hips slightly against him, feeling the undeniable proof of his words already hardening against your lower back.

"Why?" you teased lightly, tracing a finger along the line of his collarbone. "Does it make it hard for you to be all sweet and remorseful?"

He let out a low groan that was half-frustration, half-desire. His hips gave an involuntary, tiny thrust against you, confirming the solid ridge of his renewed erection. "Yeah," he gritted out, the word tight. "Because now I'm hard again, baby. Like a fucking rock."

The giggle escaped fully this time, warm and breathless against his skin. You craned your neck to look at him properly, seeing the flush creeping up his neck, the way his pupils had dilated, swallowing the warm hazel. His expression was a captivating mix of exasperation and raw hunger.

"Seriously, Sam?" you teased, your thumb brushing his lower lip. "One little whisper about feeling you inside me after you just… well… rearranged me?" You shook your head in mock disbelief. "Seems like just about everything makes you hard."

He didn't deny it. He didn't try to deflect with humor or false modesty. Instead, he held your gaze, that intense heat burning brighter. A slow, almost predatory smile touched his lips – the same lips that had been whispering apologies moments before. His hand slid from your back, down over the curve of your hip, fingers splaying possessively across your ass. He pulled you tighter against him, ensuring you felt the full, insistent length of him pressing into your lower stomach and thigh.

"Maybe," he rumbled, his voice dropping to that deep, gravelly register that never failed to make your core clench. The hand on your ass squeezed gently, possessively.

"Maybe it's just you. Everything about you." He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. "The way you feel right now... all soft and warm and mine... still feeling me... fuck." He nipped your earlobe lightly, sending a jolt straight to your already sensitized core. "How am I supposed not to get hard?"

His other hand came up, calloused fingers tracing the line of your jaw with surprising tenderness before sliding back into your hair, not gripping tightly like before, but cradling your head. The contrast was dizzying – the tender hold combined with the undeniable pressure of his arousal against you, the lingering echoes of his roughness mingling with the present wave of gentle possessiveness.